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12 years ago today:
The first time I massaged
your scalp with my feet.
For all those rubs,
you paid me back well, friend.
I'm sorry for the time I watered
your hair with Kool-Aid,
but it's my 1 to your 50.
That's right, I've kept track,
so don't even try to contend.
I haven't forgotten your crimes:
The time you stole my Silly
Putty; bits of food you "found."
Crouching whenever I awoke
and let my foot descend.
You always refused to give up
your collection of clipped toenails,
or clean the marks our dog left.
And even then, when they wanted
you out, it was you who I'd defend.
But jamming the vacuum with loose ends,
that was it. My willpower won't ever bend
to you again. This month I'll rend
you, not my common sense, old friend.
Hardwood flooring doesn't bend.
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